


30 Reasons Why Not

by XTonibX



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Boyfriends, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Disney, Gay, High School, Love Letters, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Neurological Disorders, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XTonibX/pseuds/XTonibX
Summary: an unlikely companion helps a suicidal, ADHD ridden Cyrus Rose Goodman find reasons why it's worth it to be alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am xToniBx on Wattpad ❤  
Thank you for reading.

🔆cyrus rose🔆

If Tj Kippen doesn’t stop clicking his pen, then I’ll kill myself right now. Right here in my algebra classroom.

click!  
click!  
click!

It’s all he does. It feels like it gets louder with every click. Sometimes it’s all I can hear and it gets to the point where I don’t even react when someone says my name.

click!  
click!  
click!

Every day, he clicks the tune of a different song. I usually spend my algebra classes trying to identify which song he’s clicking.

click!  
click!  
click!

That was before he started doing this bullshit. He doesn’t play songs anymore. It’s just torture.

“Cyrus!” My teacher called. 

I immediately looked at her, heart racing at the mention of my name. I’ve been staring at my blank notebook for a while now.

“Yeah?” I asked, already having an idea of what she’s going to say.

“If you don’t want to pay attention, then go out into the hall.” She said. 

She shrugged in a smug ‘if you don’t choose to pay attention, then it’s your funeral’ type way.

Ms. Fry isn’t my favorite teacher. She isn’t anyone’s favorite teacher. She once agreed with a student who called me ret**ded. I can’t say I disagree, though.

Not everyone with ADHD is stupid, but I’ve always been dumb

“God, she’s a bitch.” America mumbled from the desk beside me. I looked at her. She’s been doodling and pretending to work, which definitely isn’t unusual for her.

I nodded, looking back to my notebook. “She doesn’t get it.”

“One day you’ll find someone who does.” She replied, sinking down into her chair. “I have to pee.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head a little, a smile pulling at me.

“You understand.” I said. Amy has ADHD, too.

“ADHD gang, motherfucker.” She smiled, adjusting the belt on her high-waisted mom jeans before tucking a bit of hair behind her ear.

I don’t know if Amy knows how gorgeous she is. Her hair is a dark, soft, shoulder length brown. It’s voluminous, shiny, and silky looking. Her short necklaces accent her healthily thin collar bones and her eyes are a sharp blue with a green undertone. Her lips have a naturally rose tinted hue and she is thin, yet developed with a charming hourglass figure. Her vintage-y clothing style and her odd personality keep her modest.

We don't know each other well, but within the first day of meeting, we agreed to spend the rest of our lives together on some farm in the middle of nowhere.

“Can you even hear me?” She asked. I snapped out of my thoughts.

“What?” I asked, giving her my attention.

“I said that I’m not that someone who understands because ADHD isn’t what makes you weird. You’re a freak on your own.” She patted my head in a playfully condescending manner. If anyone else said that, I’d be upset. She doesn’t mean it seriously, though. Half of everything she says is bull.

She raised her hand. “I gotta pee.” She said very loudly. She caused a string of light laughter throughout the class. I smiled, rubbing my left eye. I’m proud to call her my friend.

Maybe friend isn’t the right word.  
What’s it called?

Acquaintance.  
Acquaintances is what we are. We don’t talk in History because our seats are so far apart. We have different lunch periods and this is the only class where we really talk. I’m fine with being acquaintances, though. Amy is a really cool person to be chill with.

Looking around the room, I see the section of pretty girls dressed in crop tops, jean shorts, makeup, and acrylic nails. It’s always a million degrees so that style is very popular in this school. Do I care? No. Nobody should. Girls should be allowed to be comfortable with what they look like.

This room can’t get any more cliche. They have the three major cliques. The hot cheerleaders and the jocks, the emos, and the freaks. All living together in chaotic harmony.

When people bring up the word “cliques”, people like to assume that it’s some unrealistic Mean Girl movie type high school. It isn’t. It’s pretty chill, actually.

In the jocks area, there is Tj fucking Kippen.

Do I hate Tj? Not at all.  
Can I stand him? Not really.

Over the summer before 7th grade, I was so excited that my best friend finally gained some self-confidence. Confidence quickly escalated into an ego and an ego-centric, popular athlete wouldn’t want to be friends with a freak.

I should be over it by now. We're in 9th grade. I still sit alone at lunch and I have been for two years. A couple of lonely, depressing years. I can't tell if I still miss him.

I tugged at my sleeve, hoping to conceal my scars. I couldn't find any of my bracelets this morning.

Who loses ten bracelets at once? Me. That's who.

It's been an anxious day. If anybody sees them, I'm screwed. Even the assholes would tell the administration out of worry, especially now. There was a suicide attempt last year by Alexis Cyr. She moved away and she's in some kind of psychiatric facility now. I hope she's doing better. She seemed like the happiest person you've ever seen. I guess it's hard to tell sometimes.

The bell rang and I flinched. Sometimes I forget where I am. Is that weird? Yeah, probably.

The familiar sounds of rushed chair push-ins and scattering feet filled my head as I stood from my chair and slung my bag over my shoulder.

"ADHD." Amy called as I started walking to the door. "We had history homework, right?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry." I replied. I'm usually the one asking her that question.

"I'll just look on Google Classroom and be a responsible bitch today." Amy sang, smiling dorkishly. I smiled a little. I adore her, but not in a romantic way. I don't even like girls, but she's charming.

"Okay." I said. We both parted ways as soon as we stepped into the hallway.

I tried my best to get to my locker without being trampled by the stampede of High Schoolers.

I was roughly shoved by someone who I'm assuming is an athlete. I can't quite see who it was.

"Watch what you're doing." I heard the voice of Tj Kippen say. I then felt a pair of hands meet my shoulders.

I looked to my left to see a couple of Tj's friends. They looked at me, smiling teasingly at Tj - who had been behind me.

"Are you his protector?" Devon asked, pretending to flex his . . . arm? Bicep? Whatever. His arms are thin like Tj's.

It's been difficult to breathe. I haven't talked to Tj in two years. What's he doing?

"Uh huh." Tj laughed. "So stop shoving him in the halls."

"We don't do that shit. We shove you into him in the hallway. There's a huge difference." Devon joked sarcastically.

Miles then fake coughed really loudly. "F*g." He said, continuing to fake cough some more.

Jesus.

Tj and Devon began to loudly yell "Oh.", telling him to shut up.

"We don't use that word." Devon said, poking Miles's chest.

"You got internalized homophobia or something?"

Miles hit Tj for the joke. They all laughed. I flinched a little before quickly parting ways with them to get to my locker. That was just so weird.

I don't talk to them and they've never talked to me.

Whatever.

I got to my locker and quickly put in the combination. Which - to my surprise - finally worked on the first try.

I opened my locker and a pastel blue index card came fluttering down to the floor. I caught it, though.

It's a note. It says "you will miss the taste of muffins."

What?

I looked around for a second, but I wouldn't have been able to see anyone specific through all of the kids anyway. Muffins are my favorite thing to eat and they have been since I was really little.

Who put this in my locker, though? Why?

I don't really have any friends.

"you'll miss the taste of muffins" ?

I came out of my thoughts after a girl bumped into me. I cleared my throat, pulling my history folder out of my locker and throwing my algebra shit inside. We never have algebra homework, so there's no point in taking any of it home.

I tucked the index card into the side pocket of my bookbag, pulling it back over my shoulder before I continued walking through the now less crowded hallway.

🔆

I let myself in with my key when I got home, as I do almost every day. Both of my parents are at work right now. My dad is a professor and my mom is a gynecologist. I usually have an hour to myself before my parents get home and my dad makes dinner.

My mom hates cooking and she always has. My dad has always loved it and he's great at it. We have a system. She works hard and cleans the house, my dad works hard and cooks, and I do nothing and then wash the dishes and take out the trash.

The only reason why they let/make me wash the dishes is to teach me about responsibility. My mom has OCD and she tends to micromanage me. I love her to death, but she can be so annoying sometimes. It isn't her fault, though.

Other than that, my parents are kind of perfect. I envy them sometimes. My dad cooks, they're both really smart and understanding and they love me so much. I just feel bad that they're stuck with me. I've always felt bad about that.

I cleared my throat, walking up the stairs and into my room. I heard the sound of blasting music coming from Tj's house next door.

God, I guess he doesn't have practice today.

He blasts that shit every day.

We have a shared treehouse between our windows. It kinda acts like a tunnel. We used to have many sleepovers when we were kids and we would sleep in the treehouse sometimes - even when the night was cold.

Everything we had in the treehouse is still in there. We played Uno all the time. We had sleeping bags, funko pops, many ridiculous polaroids on the walls, a mini wireless record player, and some other dumb shit. We just abandoned it all one day.

I haven't been in that treehouse in a long time and I don't think he has been either.

I can see him. Neither of us have gotten blinds. I'm too afraid to because I'm scared he'll take it the wrong way. Maybe it's stupid to think that he still gives a shit about me, though.

I dropped my backpack on the bed and pulled out the index card.

The message is in very small, neat cursive lettering. Is this a threat or something? I don't know.

I pushed my bag onto the floor and put the index card on my nightstand. I lied down on my bed and let myself listen to Tj's music.

This song isn't so bad.

and now my memory  
seems to be failing me.  
what once was memory  
is all i've ever known.

I closed my eyes and pulled my knees to my chest, listening to it closely. It was slightly muffled, but maybe that made it better. It's one of those soft, hippie indie songs that you hear in sad romance movies.

I stayed up most of the night, so I slowly drifted to sleep while listening.


	2. Journal Entry (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two. Tj's journal entry. ❤ thanks for the reads

dear journal,

last night i fell asleep to the sound of cyrus's charcoal scraping against the paper in his sketchbook again.

i never listen to his conversations or stare at him.

but i couldn't help but stare at him.

he gets a special light in his eyes when he gets an idea for a drawing. his hand would move vigorously, yet skillfully across the page before he gently uses his paintbrush to blend the charcoal powders. you can just tell that he loves it more than anything.

he smiled at it for a second after he finished, like he wanted to show somebody.

i miss when he showed them to me.

-tj

🔆


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My muffin"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I heard the war was over if you really choose"
> 
> Drama coming soon. <3

I took deep breaths before slowly moving the thick blanket away from my face. I squinted at the light, eyes burning at the sight of it.

My hair is fused to my forehead with sweat, but I don't feel like changing out of Tj's old Beatles hoodie and my worn-out sweatpants.

I whined at the fact that I'm awake. Today is Friday. I couldn't go to school.

Everything looks like nothing. It's like the world has no color and food has no taste. It's just one of those days.

One of those years.

My parents let me stay home when I refused to wake up. I want to go back to sleep. I want to stay there for a while.

I rolled over, looking at the alarm clock.

1:22 PM

I rolled my eyes before checking my phone.  
I have some texts from Amy.

Amy: why the hell did you abandon me  
(11:01 AM)

Amy: we got a seat change in history so good luck dealing with my annoying ass  
(11:30 AM)

Amy: i got tj kippen to kiss my fucking shoe lmao  
(12:34 PM)

Amy: amber really had the audacity to exist today smh  
(12:40 PM)

Amy: tj and uriah really went home early because their little brother got sick. lucky.  
(12:54 PM)

Amy: i fucking ditched lmao  
(1:00 PM)

Amy: i'll be there at 1:40 ish. im sleeping over love you bye.  
(1:01 PM)

She's sleeping over? I haven't had anyone sleep over since . . . Tj.

That actually might be fun. It's the most inconvenient timing ever, though.

I kicked the blanket off of myself and felt the cool air coursing through my hot clothes and my sweat. I shivered a little, but it felt good.

I took a look at my bright yellow nails and bit down on my lip.

My mom bought me some bright colors from my Aunt Bex's salon last night. I guess she was sick of the black.

I groaned as I slowly sat up in my bed, feeling the stiffness in my back. I pressed my back against the headboard, crossing my legs.

Amy's alone sometimes. She's being raised by her stepfather, but he has to work.

My parents know that I'm gay, so they'd let her sleep over. I'm excited? Scared? I don't know.

🔆 1:46 🔆

"Cyrus!" America yelled, barging through my bedroom door with her bag, which she promptly dropped onto the floor.

I flinched when I heard her. I expected her to knock on the front door when she got here.

"Yes?" I quietly asked, sitting my homework aside. I've been staring at the text for about 4 straight minutes and playing music in my head. I couldn't absorb shit.

She was wearing a plain white button up top with high waisted mom jeans and black combat boots and a brown belt.

She closed the door behind her, walking over to me. I stood up from the bed.

"I hate my life." She groaned. "But hi."

"Hi." I greeted quietly, staring at her deep green irises.

She took a glimpse over to my sketchbook and her eyes lit up.

"Do you draw?" She asked, a smile across her face.

Her smile is nice.

I smiled and nodded. "Y- Yeah. Actually, can I- can I ask you something?"

She walked over to my dresser near my window, which I had covered with a white sheet.

"Sure." She said as she opened my shirt drawer.

"Would you let me draw you?" I asked, fidgeting with my hands. I can't be friends with somebody who's this alluring and not draw them.

I sat back down on my bed.

She smiled. "Paint me like one of your French girls." She quoted with a smile as she began to unbutton her shirt.

Oh God.

I immediately covered my eyes. "What are you doing? That's not what I meant!"

After a quick second of silence, small giggles emerged from her mouth. "Chill. I'm just changing my shirt. You can open your eyes, gay ass."

Slowly, I opened my eyes and moved my hand. She stood there in her solid white bra, shuffling through my shirts.

I've never really noticed girls' bodies before, but America's is . . . perfect?

I've never been romantically attracted to girls, but I like art. I appreciate things that are beautiful.  
And girls are really beautiful.  
As are guys.  
Guys like Tj.  
His brother's, too.

She put on an old Garage Monkey t-shirt of my dad's and threw it on before walking over to me. Suddenly she seemed . . . sad.

I've been paying more attention to people on my meds. That's just about the only thing it's really done.

"What's wrong?" I asked. I've never seen her sad.

Amy dropped down on the bed next to me, bringing her knees to her chest.

"I'm gonna change my style." She said.

"Why?"

"Because." She groaned. She took a few seconds before speaking again, her tone grew quiet and sad. "Why doesn't she notice me?"

Aw.

Amy told me that she's had a crush on Amber for an entire year and Amber is yet to acknowledge her existence.

"Because she's stupid." is all I can think to say. "You don't have to change anything. Why don't you just talk to her?"

"Me? Talk to her? Fuck no." Amy retorted, adjusting her black-rimmed eyeglasses. "I just- Why won't she notice me?"

I don't know what to say.  
I don't know how to help someone.

"Just- Just be open with her like you are with literally everyone else." I shrugged. It's weird to think that someone like America is afraid of a crush.

"I keep telling myself that I'm going to be tough as shit and that I'll finally work up the balls to just go up to her and say 'Hey, I'm into you.', but it never works out that way. I get all clammy and anxious and I act like a pussy." She shook her head, angry with herself.

"I'm sorry-"

"You don't understand." She interrupted. "Have you ever had a crush?"

I've had my heart broken.  
"Yeah." I nodded. "I know it sucks and it's painful, but it'll be okay."

"This stupid crush has taught me a lot about myself." America quietly said. "I'm gonna try to be sexy and you have an obligation to help me. You're my only gay friend, okay? Come shopping with me tomorrow."

I thought revealing clothes made her self-conscious.

"Sure." Is all I could say. I'd do anything to get out of the house, even if it makes me uncomfortable.

She smiled, running a hand through her silky dark hair. "We have to find you a boyfriend."

A smiled a bit. That's never going to happen.

"Oh, fuck!" She chimed, springing up from the bed and rushing over to her bag. "I found a note in my locker for you."

Why would there be a note in her locker for me?

She pulled out a small, white envelope and handed it to me.

It just said "To Cyrus, my muffin."  
Muffin?

"I didn't read it. I swear." Amy clarified, handing me the envelope. "Just by the front, I can tell that it's probably from a secret admirer." She sang.  
I doubt it.

I opened the envelope and saw a blue pastel index card inside. I pulled it out.

'i heard the war was over if you really choose'

It sounds . . . pretty.

I just wish I knew who the hell's giving me these.

What does it mean?

"What does it say?" America asked, impatient.

I shook my head and stood from the bed, carrying it over to the small drawer in my desk that I put the other one in.

"It's personal." I said. "Not a secret admirer, though."

"Yes, because someone calling you their fucking muffin isn't romantic at all." America retorted with sarcasm, dropping herself down onto the bed.

Why would someone call me that?

🔆


End file.
